


Homecoming

by DracoIgnis



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 1970s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1970s, Broody Jon Snow, F/M, Jonerys, Vietnam War, county fair, jon snow the vet, relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 10:50:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21035027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoIgnis/pseuds/DracoIgnis
Summary: Returning from the Vietnam war, Jon finds everything has changed. But has his love for Daenerys remained the same? A Jonerys AU short story set in 1970s America. Contains original artwork.





	Homecoming

..

As they reached the fields, Jon glanced around and sighed: “Things sure have changed.”

He vividly remembered the fair; the cold wind from the roller-coaster, the smell of hot-dogs and popcorn, the red-striped ticket booth, the live soul music that lasted into the night. He remembered holding Daenerys’ hand as they ran between the rides, gnawing on corn dogs and sharing silly stories. He remembered the taste of candy-floss on her lips.

_ It was just last year, _ Jon thought, his gaze slipping across the grounds, and he felt himself shiver in the autumn breeze, _ but what a year it has been. _

The dark metal of the roller-coaster contrasted sharply against the cool blue sky. The letters had fallen off the sign of the food stall, leaving a red imprint. The ferris wheel stood empty, no characters attached to its swinging chains. As Jon took in a deep breath, he could only smell rain.

Daenerys paused next to him. She rested her hands behind her back, her orange dress fluttering slightly in the wind. “I did warn you,” she reminded him. “The place was abandoned just days after we went.”

“But why?” Jon asked, staring at the deserted stage. If he closed his eyes, he could still imagine the musicians in their white suits, hear their take on Aretha Franklin’s top songs, feel the jitter in his body. But when he looked, he saw nothing, and the longer he stared, the more of his memory seemed to fade. “The place was _ packed_.”

“You weren’t the only one who left,” Daenerys reminded him, “A lot of guys from town were drafted. Suppose it’s the employment rate that did it. With no couples left behind, well,” she shrugged, “it just couldn’t run around, I suppose.”

_ No, I wasn’t the only one, _ Jon thought. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he took in another deep breath. Then, he started making his way in between the stalls.

Wet, golden leaves covered the grounds. They clung onto his shoes as he walked. The silence seemed almost eerie, he thought, and he couldn’t help but ask: “Do you feel lonely too?”

“Like we’re the last two people in the world?” Daenerys asked, just a few steps behind him. She was watching his back as they walked, his black coat fitting neatly over his blue, flared jeans. If she didn’t know better, she could believe that he was just any other guy in town. Maybe someone named Michael or Jason, perhaps working as a carpenter or a truck driver.

But when he glanced over his shoulder toward her, his grey eyes distant as he mumbled: “No, just _ lonely,_” she knew that he was none of that.

When he left, Jon had been shy, sweet, and flirty, a bit of a bad boy with a soft heart. _ Now he’s someone else, _ Daenerys pondered, _ someone I scarcely recognise. _

Jon stopped by the old waffle stand. He let his fingertips run across the chipped tabletop as his eyes sought the back wall where a faded poster still advertised ten different toppings. “Do you remember the waffle we shared?” Jon asked, a small smile on his lips as he looked at Daenerys.

She nodded: “You got extra chocolate sauce because it’s my favourite. You could barely afford it.”

“I’ve never had much cash,” Jon admitted, glancing back at the poster. “Just another thing I haven’t managed.”

“You’ve been gone for a year, not a lifetime,” Daenerys said. “You need to stop speaking as if you’ve reached the end.”

Jon leaned onto his elbows, then rested his chin onto his hands as he sighed. “Sometimes, it feels like I have,” he admitted.

Daenerys bit the tip of her tongue and narrowed her eyes as she contemplated his words. She slowly walked up to him, leaning onto the counter space at this side. “Jon,” she said, her voice soft, “I know you don’t like talking about it-”

“-but you want to know what happened.” Jon shook his head to his hands, a smile playing on his lips. “It’s funny, you know. Most people don’t care to know.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“When I came home, Robb said, ‘Oh, hey Jon, how’s life?’ - just like that. _ How’s life?_”

Daenerys shook her head too. “I am sure he meant no harm.”

“I am sure,” Jon said, his voice perfectly honest, “but it’s still odd, isn’t it? I ran into my old professor the other day. He said, ‘Good to see you back, how’s you doing?’ _ How’s you doing._” He let go of a short laugh. “They make it sound like I’ve just been away on a long weekend.”

“Perhaps that’s how they cope.”

“Perhaps it shouldn’t matter.” Jon stretched his arms with a yawn, then turned to lean against the counter as he looked around. He was trying to take in everything at once, but wherever he looked a memory crept up. Bottle game - where he won Daenerys a teddy. Ferris wheel - where he told her she looked pretty. The shadow by the tree - where they made out under the fairy lights.

She had been so shy, so gentle, with her hands on his chest, tugging at his buttons, whilst her soft lips were hovering his, her warm breath enticing.

Jon retrieved a smoke from the pocket of his jeans as he said: “I thought of this place a lot. Every night. The sounds of people chattering, and the lights the distant flicker of fireworks.” He popped the cigarette between his lips as he started looking for a lighter.

Daenerys pushed her fingertips through her hair as she listened. She was looking toward him with kind eyes. “Do you think about that a lot now?” she asked.

“What, our date?”

“No, the war.”

Jon tipped the smoke between his teeth. As it wriggled up and down, he slipped out a lighter, lit it, then inhaled. It was only as the warm smoke escaped his lips once more that he replied: “It’s in the smallest things.” He waved the lighter at her, quirking his brows. “If I lit one of these, it could mean death. In the dark night, all you wanted was to remain unseen.”

“I am glad you managed.”

Jon nodded and tipped some ash off his smoke. “Some were less lucky,” he mumbled and took another drag. For a moment, they just stood watching the empty grounds, the cool breeze embracing them. It was October, Jon reminded himself. It had been springtime when he left for bootcamp.

Six months they gave him. Six months to learn how to use a gun, how to hide, how to _ march _. He still had nightmares about his drill sergeant shouting in his face whenever he made a wrong move. “This is not a sleepover,” the man had liked to remind him, “so wake up, boy, and find the man in you!” Once he landed in Vietnam, he’d found him soon enough.

_ Boys die, _ Jon thought, _ men survive. _ Still, as he now walked familiar streets like a stranger, he felt more like a boy than he ever had, searching for someone to take his hand and lead him home.

Jon rubbed his arms through his thin shirt. “Daenerys,” he said, his smoke bobbing between his teeth, and he glanced toward her as she lifted her gaze to meet his. “I know.”

She furrowed her brows. “Know what?”

“_I know,_” he empathised. As she cocked her head, he sighed and removed his smoke. He held it as he glanced at his shoes. “You’ve been protesting.” Still no reply. As he gazed back up at her, he found her cheeks were bright red.

Daenerys folded her hands at her front as she too leaned against the counter, her eyes averting his. “What about it?” she asked. She was trying to keep her voice neutral, but she knew it to be soaked in embarrassment. _ Part of me hoped he wouldn’t find out, _ she thought.

“Robb told me,” Jon explained. “He said you joined the women on the streets with signs. Something about _ get out now_?”

“I won’t lie - I think the war was a mistake,” Daenerys spoke plainly. She fiddled with a crease in her dress, her focus on her fingertips as if it required her full attention. “It shouldn’t have happened. It shouldn’t be going on still. But-” her lips stretched into a fine line on her face, “I won’t discuss it with you, Jon. It’s not fair.”

“I’ll tell you what’s not fair.” Jon turned to face her, one arm resting on the table, the other holding the smoke as he spoke: “A bunch of twenty-something year olds being thrown into a foreign country, barely able to hold a gun, having to fight for _ a year. _”

“I agree,” Daenerys said, “Jon, I agree, I-”

“It’s not fair that we- that _ they _ have to kill for the first time,” Jon interrupted her, his voice slightly heated, “see blood flowing on the ground, explosions, hear the cry of friends dying and knowing that they’re unable to help.”

Daenerys’ cheeks reddened even more, but this time there was annoyance in her eyes. “I never said it was fair,” she spoke. “I also held signs that said _ bring our boys home. _ Boys like _ you_, Jon!”

“I’ve seen people with those signs,” Jon said. “The very day I arrived home, they greeted me at the airport. I thought, perhaps they have come to meet me like they met my stepdad. Ned always spoke about the celebrations that followed the end of the world war. How people hailed him a hero. How they showered him with medals.” He sniffed in, the smoke in his hand forgotten. Ashes were eating it up. “But all they did was to shower me with insults. They called me a _ baby killer_, Daenerys. They _ spat _ on me.”

At this, she took in a deep breath, her hands clenching at her dress. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” she spoke, “but those people weren’t me. They’re not the whole nation, Jon.”

Jon’s voice was getting more distressed. His hands were shaking slightly as he continued: “They didn’t bother asking who I was or what I’d done. They just saw a soldier, and they wanted me to go down.” He dropped the cigarette to the ground and stepped on it to kill the light. “I never wanted to be a soldier. I just wanted… I just…” He shook his head.

Daenerys reached up to touch his cheek. Her hand felt warm against his cold skin. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” she whispered, stepping closer to him.

Jon took in a shaky breath as he tried holding his tears down, but they were pressing hotly to the corners of his eyes. “I wish I never went,” he whispered.

“I know.”

“I wish I’d been able to stay here, with you.”

“Me too,” Daenerys spoke.

“_I wish you weren’t disgusted with me._” At this, the tears escaped his eyes. They slipped down across Daenerys’ hands as she held his face, but she didn’t wipe them away.

She just stood looking at him in shock. “Why…” she began, her voice frail. She cleared her throat and took in a deep breath: “Why would you think I am _ disgusted _ with you?”

Jon sniffled in through his nose. He closed his eyes, his heart hurting whenever he looked at her. “Because,” he replied, “I am disgusted with myself.”

For a moment, they stood in silence once more. The breeze dragged a few leaves across the ground until the weight of their wetness pulled them down again. The distant tree crowns shook. Then, Daenerys brushed the palms of her hands across Jon’s cheeks, wiping his tears away.

“Jon, listen to me,” she said, pushing her thumbs beneath his eyes until he blinked them open to look at her. Her voice was soft, but serious, and her eyes stared right into his as she spoke: “I fell in love with you because you’re kind, and sweet. Because you made me laugh. Because you trust me.” She stroked her thumbs across to his ears, her fingers pushing into his black locks. “I am not _ disgusted _ with you. I am disgusted with whoever took you from me and sent you away.”

“Speak to the president,” Jon said. Although weak, there was slight humour to his voice, and slowly his lips pulled into a little smile.

Daenerys couldn’t help but smile too. “I will,” she said and pulled his head closer until their foreheads rested against one another. Her gaze never left his. “I will. I will write letters and go to protests and shout for change. But I will never, ever expect this from you.”

Jon reached up. He closed one hand around hers, the other searching around her waist as he pulled her closer. “I mean what I said earlier,” he spoke, his voice gaining strength once more. “Thinking of our date is what kept me going. The other guys kept saying not to think of you. That you’d found someone else by the time I returned.”

“What fools they were,” Daenerys smiled.

Jon felt his cheeks flush. “Yes,” he mumbled. “What fools.”

“I say we do the date again.”

Jon shortly glanced around before looking back at her. “You do realise this place is abandoned, right?”

She nodded. “What of it?”

“And it’s, well, partially overgrown.”

“Just adds to the mystique,” Daenerys insisted. She wrapped her arms around his neck as she pulled him away from the stall and into the middle of the field, right before the empty stage. “What did they play that night?” she asked, slightly swaying her hips.

Jon wetted his lips. “Aretha Franklin,” Jon said.

Daenerys nodded. “That’s it, that’s it-” and she started humming a tune as they slowly swayed, walking in circles on the ground.

Jon buried his nose in her hair, smelling autumn on her. The smell of heat and love.

_ They killed the boy in me, _ he thought, _ but they did not kill me. _ He took a stronger hold of her, then suddenly swung her around, making her yelp in surprise.

“You’re getting it now!” she laughed.

Jon chuckled, tugging her close to him once more as they continued their little dance. “This is all I ever wanted,” he said. “A simple life.”

“Then let’s build one,” Daenerys spoke, glancing up into his eyes. “Together.”

“Together,” Jon agreed. As he leaned down, she tip-toed to get closer to his lips. Their breaths slipped across the skin before they finally kissed.

And Daenerys too had changed, Jon realised, for she no longer tasted of cotton candy. She no longer was the shy girl he’d seen from across the ballroom. She was a fighter, the only one brave enough to approach him with honesty on his return. She didn’t want a glossy truth. She didn’t even ask for the old Jon. She just asked for him to _ be _.

**Author's Note:**

> DragonandDirewolf really wanted to draw some 70s Jonerys, so I complied with a story fitting the era. Hope it wasn't too depressing? Promise a return to some more fun (and smutty?) stuff soon!


End file.
